


Toothpaste Kisses

by tiredeuropean



Category: Endeavour (TV), Inspector Morse (TV)
Genre: (Well. Newly established but that's beside the point), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boys Kissing, DeBryn is a doctor, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Human Disaster Endeavour Morse, M/M, Morse Gets Whumped, Sick Character, Title from a Maccabees song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 15:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20028400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiredeuropean/pseuds/tiredeuropean
Summary: “Oh, come on! I resent that; I just don’t like my work being interrupted!” Morse protested, that barely there smile still on his face. “I’m not the one who still uses flavoured toothpaste!”“All toothpaste is flavoured to cover the bitterness of fluoride, Morse. I just happen to be sensitive to menthol, and able to afford better tasting alternatives.” Max sniffed haughtily, feeling slightly defensive of his dental choices. So what if he preferred an unusual toothpaste? It was hardly illegal!“Alright, but cinnamon? Really?”“It’s hardly a crime!”





	Toothpaste Kisses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greenapricot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenapricot/gifts), [iloveyoudie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/gifts).

> I AM SUPER INEXPERIENCED AT WRITING KISS SCENES. That said, I hope you like this! Comments are always appreciated :)  
Come say hello on Tumblr! I can be found at @oh-horatio or @fivefootgobshite if you'd like to see some of my art and photography

“Ah, he awakens. Sleep well?” Max greeted, not bothering to look up from the particularly stubborn pan he was scrubbing at in the sink. Thursday’s fatherly concern about the slight fever that Morse was running proved to be mercifully misplaced, if the fifteen minutes of agitated pacing above Max’s head was any indication. Sure enough, the younger policeman grumbled something by way of a greeting as he reached for the steaming mug of coffee on the table, copper-gold curls tousled and face significantly less flushed than it had been yesterday.

It looked like the doctor’s orders (paracetamol, plenty of water and a good night’s sleep, namely) had paid off. Max breathed an internal sigh of relief; he’d not be making any impromptu trips down to A&E this time. Keeping his…whatever he and Morse were…sane would be enough hassle as it was; carting him down to A&E would be a nightmare in and of itself.

Morse sipped at his coffee until wakefulness crept in, picking disinterestedly at his piece of toast. Max watched with exasperation and amusement as Morse’s eyes kept flicking to the clock mounted on the wall above the table, watching the minutes drip slowly by as the hands crept slowly towards nine o’clock. At five to nine, Max decided to put Morse out of his misery.

“DI Thursday wants you to know that you’re not to head into for another two days.”

Intelligent blue eyes snapped to Max as he leaned leisurely against the sideboard with a tea towel in hand, regarding him with a mix of alarm and irritation.

“I have to—” Morse began, only to be cut off by Max’s sharp tut.

“Unerring though your work effort is, you’re still potentially contagious. Can’t have the entire constabulary getting whatever lurgy it is you’ve caught. I’m quarantined from the hospital for the duration, too.” Came the rebuke, as Max set the mug he’d been drying onto the sideboard.

“I have to go in. I’ll ring Thursday.” Morse argued, one hand already on its way to the pocket his iPhone was in. As if on cue, Max’s own phone rang shrilly, Fred Thursday’s name flashing up on the caller ID. Max cocked his head slightly, flashing the screen at Morse.

“Speak of the devil.” He sighed, swiping across the screen to accept the call, and hitting the icon for speakerphone. “DeBryn speaking.”

“DeBryn, it’s Thursday. How’s Morse?” Came Thursday’s booming voice, tinny over the phone’s speaker. Max winced at the reverberation, wondering for a second if Thursday would ever grasp the idea of an indoor voice.

“He’s faring a lot better today. Less flushed, though I’ve yet to check his temperature. Wants to come into office today—”

“Absolutely **_not_**.” Thursday’s response was firm. “Pass me over to him, would you? Seems like I need to have a little chat with him.”

With a hefty sigh, Max turned speakerphone off, passing the alarmed (and more than a little bit pissed off, if the look he shot Max was anything to go by) Morse the phone and turning his attention back to the drying up to afford him some modicum of privacy.

Just as he put the last two plates away, Morse handed him back the phone with a particularly reticent look on his face.

Max pocketed the phone and braced himself for the inevitable backlash. It never came. Instead, Morse regarded him with a surprisingly earnest look, which completely poleaxed Max.

“Wh-what did Thursday have to say, then?” Max quickly asked, wincing slightly as he registered the way his tongue had tripped inelegantly over itself. Morse realised too, if the flash of sharp intelligence in those eyes was anything to go by.

“He reminded me that my tendency to disregard self-care often leads to repercussions for you. I believe his exact words were “do you_ really_ think Dr. DeBryn wants to spend 48 hours mothering a man-child like _you_, Morse?”” Morse relayed, lips quirking into a smile as he impersonated the senior officer.

Max felt himself smiling briefly at the startlingly accurate impersonation. “He knows I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t care to. Occasionally, you make an almost tolerable patient. Besides, I wouldn’t say man-child, exactly. Perhaps more…inconvenienced adolescent.”

“Oh, come on! I resent that; I just don’t like my work being interrupted!” Morse protested, that barely there smile still on his face. “I’m not the one who still uses flavoured toothpaste!”

“All toothpaste is flavoured to cover the bitterness of fluoride, Morse. I just happen to be sensitive to menthol, and able to afford better tasting alternatives.” Max sniffed haughtily, feeling slightly defensive of his dental choices. So what if he preferred an unusual toothpaste? It was hardly illegal!

“Alright, but _cinnamon?_ Really?”

“It’s hardly a crime!”

“As the only one between us with the qualification for a policeman, I think _I’ll_ be the judge of that.” Max’s ears went pink at the implications of that sentence, eyes widening fractionally behind his glasses.

An image of Morse in uniform with his lips kissed swollen and pink dashed across his mind, and Max frantically recalled the way that his most recent patient’s intestines had glistened greyish-pink and bloody under his scalpel to quell any physical responses that thought triggered.

“It’s all perfectly legal and produced by Glaxo-Smith so it’s all held to UK safety and quality standards. I can’t help it if my toothpaste is an acquired taste!” Max shot back.

Morse’s eyes had flashed to his lips, darkening hungrily for a moment.

“Steady _on_! For all we know, you’ve got the bloody swine flu!” Max sputtered, feeling rather caught out.

It wasn’t that the idea of being kissed by Morse was unwelcome, far from it; it was simply the newness of the whole situation, the ability to touch and admire and just to love someone who had been the object of his admiration from afar for so long. Kissing Morse would make whatever this was _real_, and Max wasn’t sure he would be able to back away from this bright and fragile _thing_ that burned between them if it became anymore real.

Max sighed, feeling more than a little rueful.

For someone who didn’t do love, he had fallen awfully hard for Morse.

* * *

Though he wasn’t a praying man, Max could’ve dropped to his knees and thanked the Lord with fervour as Morse miraculously managed to get through the 48-hour quarantine period without acting like a massive toddler. Sure, he was mulish when Max plied him with water every two hours and told him in no uncertain terms that alcohol would be off limits until the paracetamol had passed through his system but other than that, he’d been a model patient.

Almost _too much_ of a model patient.

Perhaps Max ought to ask Thursday for a transcript of what he’d said to Morse. If it really was that effective, Max would almost certainly be needing a copy the next time Morse ended up in the mortuary, semi-conscious and determined to redecorate the place with his blood volume.

Max shuddered at the thought of Morse’s blood on his hands, almost able to feel the tackiness of it on his fingers. It was so much more significant now, Morse’s blood so much more precious.

“Right, it appears we’re both out of the doldrums. I think the cause of your fever was merely your body trying to get you to slow it down a little, though I’ve no doubt you’ll keep on merrily ignoring it until the next time someone decides to poke you with the business end of a knife or some other sharp implement.”

“So, it’s not contagious?”

Max blinked owlishly at Morse, wondering when if the man would ever listen to him regarding his health. He could see exactly where Morse was heading with the train of conversation, but was determined to get his lecture in. It was for Morse’s own good, after all.

“…Exhaustion doesn’t _tend_ to be contagious, Morse.”

Morse rolled his eyes, and Max relented.

“_Fine_. No, it’s not, and yes, you can.”

Morse blinked in surprise, but before Max could make a witty remark about Morse’s complete lack of poker face and blatant obviousness, Morse’s lips were on his, warm and soft and slightly chapped, and any clear thought leached out of Max’s mind. Morse exactly how he worked; thorough and attentive, those long fingers gently carding through his hair. What had started out as a chaste kiss quickly turned needy and perhaps a little bit desperate as Morse angled his head to deepen the kiss, coaxing Max’s mouth open. Max’s eyes fluttered shut as their tongues gently tangled in a slow, intimate dance. Pulling away slightly, Max nipped Morse’s bottom lip teasingly. Morse groaned lowly in his throat, surging forward until Max’s back was pressed firmly into the counter.

Bloody hell. Well, he’d have to remember that.

A long moment passed before the two men broke apart.

Max gazed at Morse, dazed in the best way. Morse's eyes, wide and brilliantly blue, stared back at him.

Damn him, but Morse looked even more alluring with his hair tousled and his lips kissed pink, the kitchen lights shining through his coppery hair giving him a halo that made him appear almost ethereal. When a satisfied look passed across his face, Max fancied he looked like angel just before the Fall, having gleaned all of the fated knowledge to topple mankind.

“You were right. Your toothpaste is an acquired taste—”

“If you articulate what I think you’re about to, Morse, then I’ll not wait for the next Baliol Bludgeoner to do the job and I’ll skewer you myself.” Max warned, no heat behind his words.

"Don't think I won't. If you like my toothpaste so much, just buy a bloody tube."

Morse laughed, the sound bright and beautiful, and leaned in to kiss Max again.


End file.
